In Order to redeem Dean Winchester
by giraffewithstripes
Summary: Castiel and his garrison have been hunting for Dean for thirty years, unable to find him due to the warlock Merlin. But for Merlin to relinquish his claim on Dean Winchester's soul the reincarnated king of Arthur, an sacrifice must be made. Which will Castiel choose? To serve heaven or to serve man, and promise himself to Dean Winchester?
1. Chapter 1

Castiel was the first to break rank, tearing into the flesh of another demon, another fallen soul. Their rancid faces curved into puckered scowls as they were purified, crumbling down. The other angels of his garrison flanked him, Uriel gripped his shoulder, hissing in Enochian "Don't do anything you'll regret Castiel." His form bristled at the touch, as Uriel's thoughts ebbed through him.  
More demons flung themselves at them, Lucifer's followers no doubt, their scarred faces grabbing at the angel's light as their eye sockets burned out. Tortured souls shrieked, some still retaining some sense of the best of humanity, crying "Mercy." But they were not there for them, they were there for the fallen Righteous man. Dean Winchester.

Balthazar was first to follow Castiel, as always, his loyal companion, his closest friend. "Do you have any bloody idea what we're doing?" He sniped, as Castiel paused, feeling for the essence of the Righteous man's soul. "We need a holiday after this Cassie." He remarked, as he cut down screeching demons with his angel's blade. If Castiel's essence had been encased in a vessel he would've smiled. "You may be right."  
"Thirty years Cas. Don't mean to be complaining, but we seem to be lost."  
"These are our orders." Castiel stated, at his eyes flicked back to Balthazar's form, absentmindedly plunging his knife into yet another demon, and reaching out to touch another, causing it to explode into strips of ash.  
"Nice work Cassie."  
"You know I prefer Cas -" Castiel turned around, seeing another man standing behind Balthazar. He clenched his knife tightly, before recognising the man standing before him was no demon or tortured human soul. "I could keep you running around here as long as I need to, Castiel." The man said, his eyes glinting a rich amber.  
Not angel either. He was the warlock, descendent of Gabriel.  
"Emrys." Castiel managed, Balthazar seemed to ignore Castiel's communication with the apparition, seeing right through the old man Merlin, as if he wasn't even there. He said something to Castiel, gestured to him to move, but Castiel's eyes were only on Merlin. "My brothers escorted your soul to heaven themselves." An exception to the great wizard, an assurance that Gabriel's prophecy could never come to fruition. Arthur could not become king without Merlin. Two prophecies could not coincide. There was not a place in paradise for a human king.

"The Goddess of the Old Religion was a Nephilim, it means I can transcend the bounds of heaven." Emyrs wrinkled lips, curled into a small smile. "Doing so, though would be next to impossible if part of my soul was not already here with Arthur's, as part of myself resides with him, even here." The old man swallowed, and his face seemed to crumple. "Even now, I am with him, watching." He shook his head, slowly, his voice low and quiet, and yet seething with rage. "You waited ten years while he bled, for this. For Dean Winchester, the future king to finally fall. What gave you the right?"  
"It's all for God's purposes, these were my orders." Castiel growled, seizing his blade, ready to cut the warlock down. He was standing in the way of their mission. And as it appeared his brethren could not see him, it fell to him to ensure that he carried out his duty.  
"Is it the purpose of God, to condemn the righteous man to break the first seal, and soil his hands in blood? Heaven stood by and looked on. You looked on, Castiel, the angel that fell for humanity." The man's brow creased in disappointment, as he evaluated the angel, and his soft human gaze was incredibly unsettling. His soul should be unable to perceive Castiel in his true form, but here he was, standing before him as if he had a right to judge.  
"I respect them as God's creations, but I feel no particular empathy towards them, as you seem to entertain in your delusions. My purpose is to serve heaven. Now stand down." Castiel said, unwavering in his threat, moving his blade to slice apart Emyrs. He hadn't time for the warlock's antics.

Merlin's eyes glowed. He bore down his staff. Castiel staggered, raising his hands to his head. His arms. His legs. They tingled, as if they'd been soaked in corrosive acid. "What have you done to me?" He grunted, annoyed at his weakness. His vision blurred, and he strained to focus on Merlin. The man folded his arms, standing over Castiel as he cringed to the ground, his face glimmering with his youth for a brief moment, before melting away. The sharp blue of the warlock's eyes faded, the whites of his eyes yellowing again. A friendly smile became a yellow toothed sneer, as the warlock outstretched a hand for Castiel to take.

The angel refused, standing on his own, sharp blades of grass pricking his hands, the moist soil clinging to the palms of Castiel's human hands. His eyes hungrily examined the scenery, his now fresh eyes, drinking in the nectars of his God's creation, so hungry after his years in hell. His legs felt rubbery beneath him, he grimaced, as his feet quaked beneath him, unsure of how to place his weight. Castiel scrunched his face up in confusion, groaning as he tried to twitch his wings, before it dawned on him, he could not stand because they where absent. His eyes widened, spinning dizzily on his heels to face Merlin, nostrils flaring. Cold air raked Castiel's throat, which was disconcerting. His feets clenched, and he shivered, from the squelch of wet clumped soil brushed on the inside of his palm. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was too overwhelmed by the need to balance, need to breathe, feeling every particle that danced in his lungs, his heart thrumming with the acute shock of feeling, and the strong absence of all it was to exist for Castiel. "How do you maintain these functions?" Castiel asked eventually, still straining to get his thumping heart - so loud- to return to a more normal rhythm. He closed his eyes, listening for his brothers, trying to send an SOS, to find that all lines to heaven were dead.

Castiel's eyes were wet. He wiped his eyes, frustrated at his own inability to control himself, to control this slab of meat. He hadn't taken a vessel for decades, but even so this was worse. When Castiel had taken a human form, although he'd felt the restrictions, it'd been nothing like this…wearing the meat suit is a lot different to being trapped in one, with no exit. No relief. The constant thrum of Castiel's brothers had been ripped from his very core, leaving a dead line of communication. He couldn't escape, unable to flash out because Merlin had stripped away his wings. He gritted his teeth, swallowing hard, trying to maintain some sense of dignity, managing to glare at the culprit, the source of his distress. "Release me."

Merlin seemed to ignore his request, gesturing to the scenery. "This is the path I walked on, when I first travelled to Camelot, all those years ago." The man smiled, while Castiel glanced back suspiciously, squinting his eyes shut, spots dancing before his eyes from the glare of the blue sky, as he tried to observe the great castle of Camelot that overlooked the horizon.  
"Why are you showing me this?" He snapped, only listening to the warlock because he had to.  
"My one purpose in life has always been to serve Arthur." Merlin said, in a subdued tone, but his voice sounded rough, making Castiel's ears pound.  
"I am aware." Castiel stated. "But if you are disrupting this mission. Release me now or I'll smite you where you stand." The angel stared at his hand, perplexed, as his silver blade refused to slide into his waiting hand.  
"You'll not be able to." The old man smiled, his blue eyes glinting mischievously as he held Castiel's blade in his hand, before slipping it back into his worn robes. Castiel glowered, scrunching his eyes in concentration as he tried to fade out. An innate instinct. Only to remember that he had no wings. The Warlock chuckled at Castiel's wrinkled nose, and eyebrows squelched together in concentration.

Castiel frowned, frustrated at the stubborn illusion, only becoming more vivid in his efforts to escape. His body tingled with his newfound senses, and the relief of experiencing and hearing something other than screams and the blaze of frigid fire.  
"I am afraid that you will not be able to raise Dean Winchester from hell, Castiel because I cannot let you do so." Merlin glared back at the angel. "Not for your purposes."  
"You question the purposes of God? These are my orders from heaven. They cannot be wrong."  
"You could not be more ignorant Castiel," Merlin stated, Castiel's brow twitched in irritation. "I could make you hunt for him for years more." Merlin grunted, "I have no patience with heaven. Too many civil wars and selfish squabbles amongst brothers about who loved daddy the most. It's pathetic."  
"What gives you the right? God is the ruler of heaven, it is up to him. Heaven has always wanted best for humanity." Castiel roared. "I could tear you apart for such blasphemy!"  
"I suppose they haven't told you, course not, you're an insignificant front-liner, they've been inside your head too many times to count."  
"No one has done any such thing!" Castiel seethed, lunging for Merlin. "You're Gabriel's spawn, brought up and chosen by pagan Gods of Nephilim! Your existence goes against creation!"  
"And whose fault was that! You may remember my ancestor Gabriel who rebelled! He left, when your silly squabbles became too much. And I was the result, unintentional, granted, but I still count. Humanity still counts. We're worth more than you take credit. Think before you speak, angel Castiel. For I know far more of the world than you do, and I am not blinded by prejudice or ignorance, like you and the rest of your garrison." The old man trembled with rage, and Castiel felt fear, deep in the pit of his being. He backed off, wary of the old man, his words pricking against some details in his head, terrible things wanting to resurface, things that were not easy to dismiss under the old man's piercing gaze, and the glare of the blue sky.  
"You'll not allow your comrade's soul to rot here." Castiel said warily, hoping that this was true rather than believing.  
The old man nodded. "No, I will not. But to release him from his prison you must first release him from my care."  
"And how am I to do that?" Castiel replied, perplexed.  
"You must promise yourself to man, to serve Dean Winchester." Merlin's eyebrows arched, as he watched the angel quiver at the words. His loyalty was only to Heaven. The humans, could only ever come second. The old man's lips curved into a sneer. "I see that the angel is afraid, but I hope not too intimidated by this deal." The old man beckoned Castiel to walk with him. "This is the path I walked along as a young boy, on the way to meet my destiny." He looked down at the dirt path. "If you wish to redeem Dean Winchester from hell, you must walk this path with me, and we'll take a trip down memory lane together."  
"I remember your history quite well, Merlin. I watched it take place. I have seen and heard it recounted many times in literature, although most do not tell the story accurately."  
"I wasn't talking about my past, but rather about yours, Castiel, the most rebellious angel in all of heaven."  
"I have always obeyed my orders!" Castiel bellowed, making the trees shake and warp. "I have always-"  
"You'd be wise to hold your tongue Castiel, and listen." Merlin snapped. "Stop acting like an impertinent child. Walk with me now, Castiel, or I'll make you and your little soldiers tread through hell for another thirty years!"  
Seeing that the old man was resolute, reluctantly Castiel stepped onto the dirt path. The castle of Camelot still stood in the horizon, as distant as it had ever looked, but the setting around him had changed. The grass was still green, but now the grass he tread upon felt familiar and comforting, sighing under Castiel's bare feet and he saw the usual figure of a man flying a kite in the distance, whom Castiel had come to consider as a friend, due to their constant close proximity with each other, despite the lack of contact, and awareness of the man knowing that Castiel was there in the first place. "This is my favourite heaven," He paused, before turning to Merlin, "What is the point of this exercise?"  
"Describe it to me Castiel." Merlin commanded, who kept his eyes only on Castiel. "I am blind to what you see, to me there is only the path to Camelot, where we are headed."  
"It's the tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub. It's my favourite perception of heaven, as angels cannot create their own." The angel's mouth twitched into a smile as he looked up at the silhouette of the kite and the man in the distance.  
"Why do you perceive it as your favourite, Castiel?"  
"I suppose, it's because of its serenity and simplicity, he tends to fly a kite in the distance, and I can simply sit and admire God's creation, the green trees and the scenery. It's not...as materialistic as most, or noisy. Most heavens I've seen are either parties, places to get drunk or spend time with loved ones, none of which really attracts me." They continued to walk, and Castiel was agitated, as he saw Merlin ghost through the scenery, not stopping to admire a detail. "If you conjured it, how can you not see it?"  
Merlin shook his head. "For me it is only the road to Camelot, and that is all my eyes will ever be able to see here. We must be getting on, should you ever want to save Dean Winchester, and fulfil the task that heaven has given you."  
Castiel gave a small nod, and followed the stooped old man, addressing him with another question. "Why are you only able to see the road to Camelot?"  
Merlin turned back to the angel with a small smile. "For me there is only Arthur."  
"My loyalty is to heaven." Castiel grimaced, planting his feet into the ground. "Why are you trying to manipulate me?"  
"You know I am not a demon, Castiel. I mean you no harm."  
"You have my garrison wandering through hell like fools. Some of my brothers have died fighting to get to Dean Winchester!"  
"I am sorry for your loss," Merlin sighed. "But I had to stop you from reaching Dean Winchester, for he cannot be redeemed, until someone accepts my soul."  
"I accept your soul." Castiel growled. "Now release me and be gone."  
"You must walk with me first, Castiel, before you agree to such things as these." Merlin warned. "For you will be bound to Dean Winchester always, and must promise to serve man, before heaven."  
"I cannot do that."  
"What a hypocrite you are Castiel," Merlin snorted. "I can hardly believe that this is the reputed rebellious angel!"  
"I have never rebelled! So I'm asking you politely, not to make such assertions" Castiel growled, resisting the urge to grab and shake the warlock, since stabbing was now out of the equation. He'd just disappear out of his grasp again.  
"You want me to lie Castiel?" The warlock asked. "Get on with it and tell me what you see."  
The angel swallowed, as he stared up at the black sky, his nose assaulting with the stench of burning flesh and wood, as his eyes adjusted to the poor light, looking back down to a blackened landscape, carcasses of dinosaurs strewn all around him. A cleansing, they'd told him, a cleansing, for what was to come. He walked through the barren land, the smouldering trees with trepidation, looking for signs of life. His hand brushed against the bloody flesh of a dinosaur, its sides heaving even now. Its eye rolled, unrelieved by his touch. Its ribs ballooned outwards, its breath irregular. The creature seized, legs kicking outwards, a grunt of pain forming in the back of the beast's throat. Its body went limp. The beast's eyes glazed over. Castiel withdrew his hand, remembering.

God's orders. But he'd fought against them all the same.

He swallowed, his mouth filling with bile, his eyes going wet again. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to stand. But he gritted his teeth and he forced himself to hold it together. "Leave me Merlin," He managed, a pathetic growl, as he tried to summon what strength he had left. "Is it really necessary to show me this?"

He did not want to see what was to come after this. He looked back at Merlin, who evaluated his expression, reading regret and pain, in his stooped shoulders. Castiel could never remember doubting himself before this moment, as he stood here in the aftermath of the angels' destruction. Merlin took no satisfaction in his repetition of his question, there was no triumph as he read Castiel's eyes. "Tell me what you see."

"The whole landscape is burning, the sky is murky with ash. Everything is dead, dying."

"What did you reach out and touch?" Merlin asked, watching Castiel intently.  
Castiel looked back, and quietly answered the sorcerer's question. "A creature that was dying." Castiel said, trying to give as little detail as possible, expecting another question, but Merlin was silent, trooping on through the land of the dying without a glance, Castiel following behind, embers of doubt once again reforming in his mind, as it began to overflow with questions, none of which he had an answer to. He just didn't know. He could not tell if this had all been real, or just a product of the warlock's sorcery, created to deceive him. But there was only forward left to go to. The path to Dean Winchester, would be much more painful than Castiel could have ever anticipated. He looked towards the castle, visible even now, among the product of the angels' slaughter. It loomed over him, on the horizon, taunting him with its distance. Although the sorcerer had never said so directly, Castiel could feel that this was where his journey would come to an end. It would be a long way to go before Castiel would resurface once again.


	2. Chapter 2

The sky was boarded up from Castiel's eyes, the view of Camelot replaced by the doorway between a stuffy motel room, and a shabby bathroom. His bare feet were suddenly hemmed into heavy boots, that crushed his toes as they clunked against the floor - far too heavy. He shifted his feet, causing the floorboards to creak. The only thing that helped him to orient himself from the sudden plunge into a surreal reality was the relief of his regained wings, curving into his body, flattening themselves as he turned into the doorway. He could even hear the whispers of his brothers and sisters, but faint and subdued, hemmed down as if he was trying to shrink into himself.

These blessings were short lived, as his feet seemed to move of their own independent will. He tried to shift his eyes, struggling to place himself, find out where he was, when he was, but he was forced to be a spectator to what Merlin had claimed had been his memory. Even with not much to gather from, as cracked floor tiles and generic bedspreads that made every motel look like every motel was not a lot to go on. He could be anywhere from a backwater motel in the USA to Europe. His eyes drifted to the sink, and his feet trudged forward, with Castiel still trying to figure out how to plant his feet into the floor, just to stop the vision for a moment, grasping for some context. Were was the chronological order? Where was the importance? What was he doing in a motel in the first place?

The vessel's feet stopped. His eyes squinted at the bland tiles, slightly yellowed between the gaps, as if trying to figure out the purpose for what the tiles were for, since they offered no anaesthetic appeal. The vessel frowned, drawn to a grimy photo on the bathroom sink. He picked it up, tenderly dabbing off a few beads of condensation. The photo was slightly blurred in places, the faces were smudged with dirty fingerprints. The photo had obviously been an old treasure, the edges were ridged with dirt, another sign of travel. His hand traced the faces, a grinning woman, features blurred, but her short blonde hair still retained its detail, cradling a pudgy infant, whose face was also impossible to distinguish. A little girl hung onto the woman's arm, the picture taken mid laugh.

"What are you doing?"

The vessel turned towards the boy, unsurprised by the intrusion. But the Castiel this was not happening to, was left reeling. This boy -  
This was Dean Winchester. The righteous man. He couldn't be more than his late teens, Castiel thought, so what was Castiel doing here? He'd never met the Winchesters, prior to the mission. So why -?

Sadly this was not the time for answers, as his past self seemed more interested in other matters, holding out the rumpled photo for Dean to take. He asked quietly. "Why was it left here?"  
"Hell, if I know, Cas. Probably some dad on the run from his responsibilities." Dean hesitated as he looked over the photo, his face falling for a brief moment. Castiel could see something in his eyes, vulnerability, anger, before it was brushed off his face. Dean muttered. "Whoever it was, they were a coward."

"Why?" Castiel asked.  
"They left this here for once thing. If you're going to ditch your family, you could at least go all the way, and throw your photo in the trash." Dean shook his head, turning away from Castiel, so he couldn't see his face. Castiel's eyes flickered down to see Dean slip the photo into his pocket. "Couldn't the photo have been lost?" Castiel asked.  
"Yeah right Cas, even I know you don't believe that. This place is such a downer." Dean's green eyes flicked to Cas, a playful smile slipping across his face, a cocky smile that tried to bury what Dean was really feeling. "You coming?"  
Castiel nodded. "Where's Sam?"  
Sam appeared in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. "Right here."

~:~

Castiel blinked, recoiling away from the scene's sudden turn. The motel fell away from his eyes, the vision of Dean and Sam peeled away from his eyes, as his head turned upwards to the sky. He collapsed to the ground, feeling his wings wrenched from his shoulders again, the rip of his essence, the noise of his brothers, torn away from his core. He hunched over onto the unforgiving grass, breathing hard. He tried not to focus on the throbbing of his back, aching with the absence of his wings, his anchor to his body. "What was that?" He gasped, blinking. His fingers balled into fists, twisting into the grass as he struggled to get a hold on himself. He breathed hard, grateful, that he could breath, that he was in control of his own body once again.

Merlin stood over him, asking again the question. "What did you see?"

"A motel." He rasped, staring down, picking out the singular blades of green grass, spotting an ant trekking his way through the dirt. Merlin didn't offer a hand, he simply stood and waited for Castiel to collect himself. "Did I really meet them?" Castiel asked, looking up at Merlin, trying to read Merlin's indecipherable blue eyes. "Did I know the Winchesters personally?" He barked. His vision warped, and again he could almost see Merlin's younger self, the one who had been servant to Arthur -

The moment passed, leaving the gnarled old man who said acidly. "If you see it, then it happened."  
"Nothing happened." Castiel said, frustrated at the warlock's cryptic answers. "I just saw Dean Winchester in a motel and handed him an old photograph that I found."  
Merlin sighed, turning away from Castiel, looking back to the castle far off into the distance. "I thought there'd have been some order to these memories, if that's what they are." Castiel continued, irked by Merlin's behaviour. Annoyed that he was constantly left with more questions than answers.  
"Memories don't obey the rules of time, Castiel." Merlin asked, looking back at Castiel. "Not for humans, or people anyway. Thoughts don't have order."  
"I'm an angel, I'm not like a human, I am able to remember every single moment, every second that has passed since my creation."  
"God made you different Castiel." Merlin said quietly, making Castiel glare at him in derision. "You have...more heart than your brothers and sisters for humanity, for life. That makes more memories have more clarity than others to you, because you have an emotional connection to them. Something that you just remembered, that moment was of importance to you."  
"I have never met Dean Winchester." Castiel enunciated. "And why would I remember something so insignificant as giving Dean an old photo?" Castiel hissed, finding the strength to stand. He balled his fists, resisting the urge to grab Merlin's cloak and shake him. The corner of Merlin's mouth twitched into a smile. "If it was so insignificant, Castiel, so pointless, why do you hold it so dear?"

And with that "message of wisdom", Merlin took his staff once more, ambling down the road that wound and twisted its way to Camelot. Castiel swayed on his feet slightly, as he stumbled forward, not quite recovered, but it seemed nothing was going to leave him time to recover anyway. He expected the warlock to be silent, but then he said. "Every memory, every piece has it place, you just have to wait for it to come together."

"And what will happen then?!" Castiel snapped.  
"Then it will be your time to decide whether you truly want to release Dean Winchester from hell and take my place as his servant."  
"My loyalty is to heaven."  
"Heaven treats you as a pawn, throwing your own memories away and changing them as they desire Castiel."  
Castiel made no answer, staring off at the castle, crossing his arms into himself. The castle seemed to be no closer, and the "answers" that Merlin promised it seemed were not going to come into fruition any time soon. Merlin gave a small chuckle to himself, looking back at Castiel, with something softer in his eyes, a fondness, although why Castiel could not fathom. Even the simplest and most sincere of glances was laced with an ulterior motive. Was heaven the liar or was the warlock Emyrs, it was becoming more difficult to decide.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel's skin prickled, his body trembled in the sudden chill. He turned, his eyes breathing in the scene. Castiel inhaled and exhaled, gratified by the quiet, listening to the woods breathe. Movement felt more natural, because his body moved the way it wanted to. Not under his control, but a preemptive movement, which was a lot more comfortable. This Castiel was looking around his environment as much as he was. The wind whipped through his feathers, shielding him from the brunt of the cold. Even so, his stiff jacket was frigid against his skin. The noises of his brothers were faint whispers, quiet echoes of Enochian. Castiel knelt down in the soil, looking out across the pond, watching the shadow of a newt swim through the water just below the surface. Automatically Castiel wanted to relax let his wings, roll back on his shoulders slightly, and watch the sky change colours from the bleached blue to the orange lozenge of sunset as time ebbed on, and life progressed.

But the Castiel controlling this body felt very differently. His shoulders were rigid, his eyes stared ahead focusing on the newt with an empty stare. His ears were attuned to the quiet whispers of his distant angel's wavelengths, sifting through the voices, searching for something, someone, but for what? His muscles were tense. Castiel felt for his blade, slipping it into his palm. Even his face wasn't relaxed, his muscles ached with the permanent placement of a frown. This Castiel was tired. He could feel the wear on the vessel. It was clumsy, inefficient. This was not his optimum vessel. This was barely holding him together.

Castiel froze. He twisted his body round, jerking his blade upwards as he heard the whip of wings behind him. His clunky boots splashed against the water, as he stepped forward, knife raised towards the threat.

"Castiel."  
Castiel gritted his teeth in recognition. "Balthazar." He managed, his voice crackling. But he kept his knife level, stopping several feet away from Balthazar. He didn't let his compassion for his friend affect his head. "Who else have you brought brother?" Castiel growled, looking behind him, sifting through the weak signals of his brothers. They were too quiet. Far too quiet. Seeing Balthazar made him anxious. His free fist clenched into a fist, eyes shifting to and fro, still searching for invisible angels.

Balthazar smiled, and it made this Castiel's stomach curl. "Call it an independent mission Castiel."  
"How did you find me?" Castiel snarled, stepping forward, ready to attack. His fear was making him desperate. His wings twitched in anticipation, begging to fly. But Castiel held back, wanting to save his energy. He maintained his control. He had to make sure that Balthazar wouldn't alert the others.  
Balthazar shrugged, giving a weak smile. "You're a just a little predictable at times Castiel."  
Castiel clenched his teeth. "I've kept myself clean so far, so what gave me away?" He took another step forward. "Why didn't I hear you approaching?"  
Balthazar looked uncomfortable by his brother's proximity. "I told you Castiel, I've been looking for you of my own accord. I was worried about you!" Balthazar paused, swallowing as he asked hoarsely. "You suddenly went AWOL. What do you expect?"  
Castiel made no answer. "Depart from me, Balthazar," He commanded, looking his brother in the eyes. "I will not hesitate to cut you down, should you provoke me."  
"Why did you do it Castiel?" Balthazar asked. "That's all I want to know."

~:~

Castiel could not watch the fight anymore. His whole being recoiled against it, wrenching himself away from it, ripping his past self from the present. He collapsed under the weight of his human body, staring up at the sky. Castiel lay on his back looking up at the sky, that was no longer fragmented by the bulky trees. The sky should have been a comforting presence, but instead Castiel felt too raw under its powerful gaze. His eyes watered from the glare. Merlin nudged him with his staff. "You're fighting it." He grunted, as his gnarly hands, gripped Castiel, the angel, lifting him to his feet. "I'm not lying to you Castiel." Merlin said, gripping Castiel's shoulder, his sharp eyes staring into Castiel's.  
Castiel glared back. "It's not intentional."  
Merlin shook his head. "Yes. It is. Your delusions are preventing your progress. You have to let go of everything heaven has told you."  
Castiel bristled. "What did I do to rebel?" Castiel croaked. "You told me that I rebelled, but why?"  
"How am I to know the matters of angels?"  
"STOP TRYING TO DECEIVE ME!" Castiel screamed, lunging to grab Merlin. "I want answers." Castiel fumed, glowering at Merlin at he disappeared out of his grasp.  
"Stop seeing yourself as two different people." Merlin said. "Go where your memory takes you. Then you may decide if what I'm saying is an act of trickery. And then you will receive your answers." Merlin barked, walking away yet again. "And I'm afraid Castiel that I'm as ignorant as you are at this time about your past. I only know what Gabriel had told me when I was alive."  
Castiel glowered back at him. "He's a fugitive."  
Merlin smiled. "So was I and so were you." Merlin looked back at Castiel, his face sombre, Castiel was struck by the severity of the old man's face. "You do have to let go, Castiel. It's for your benefit."


	4. Chapter 4

You must scrub yourself clean.  
Rub away your expectations, your beliefs, your doubt. There can be no doubt, if you are to survive. This is what is. There is only acceptance for what this is.  
Reconcile two halves. There is no distinction. They are both you. For you to retrieve Dean Winchester you must accept that this is you.  
This is what you did.  
Believe this, briefly. Allow this to be real.  
Your questions can come later.  
You are an angel of the Lord.  
You always will be.  
Now scrub yourself away.  
Breathe.  
Watch and be.  
Live in these fragile moments. Endure them.  
You are an angel of the Lord.  
This is your mission.  
Save Dean Winchester.

~:~

Castiel supposed it was not considered to be normal behaviour to feed the ducks, although he did not know quite why. He'd received multiple stares as he performed the ceremony of chucking bread into the pond, just as he'd witnessed children doing with their parents, and old couples walking together, although he was not quite sure if this was because of his hair - it was the colour of candy floss. Frowning he tugged on a limp end of it, remembering Balthazar calling him out on it. But this was merely how his adolescent vessel looked, and Castiel had no intention whatsoever of changing it. He'd inevitably be dragged back to heaven in a couple of months, a few more years if he was fortunate and so it would seem rude to change his vessel's hair colour to suit his preferences. He was merely burrowing this skin. It was only fair to live with it, besides, he quite liked the colour, it was just the attention that Castiel wasn't used to having. It was requiring more energy to obscure himself from the world, what with him cutting off his angel connections to heaven. Balthazar finding him, had only been to his close knowledge of Castiel and dedication. Castiel was still thankful that it'd been him and not Uriel. Uriel would have forced him back to heaven bible camp, for another round of schooling.

He found he quite missed the busy din of the angels, although he still heard them, he still listened for them, for new developments, it was gradually becoming more and more subdued. He'd always fought so hard to receive some sense of serenity in the past, but now it'd been given to him, he realised just how big a part of him the noise and communication between him and his brothers had actually been.

"Hey, you okay?" A woman asked, tapping him on the shoulder, giving him a small smile, that Castiel identified as sympathy.  
He tried to reassure the woman that he was fine, but as usual this task proved harder than what humans usually made it look like. "Yes, I am very well. I'm experiencing no problems whatsoever, but thank you for your concern." He added a smile at the end, then frowned in confusion as the woman's friendly smile faltered, looking confused herself, before recovering. Obviously, Castiel had mucked up the speech vernacular again, as usual. It was something he still found hard to do, and so avoided it when he could.  
"I'm Mary Winchester." She said holding out a hand. "It's just that you seem to be here a lot."  
Castiel frowned again, unsure of what to say to the concerned woman, mother of the Righteous man and the future Abomination. She was heavily pregnant, and despite this Castiel could not tell if she was pregnant with Dean Winchester or with Sam. He'd been out of touch with the angels' for a while now, something that he was not eager to remedy any time soon. They would punish him for what he'd done.  
"Mary!" A man behind her exclaimed, as a boy bounced over to her, wrapping his skinny arms around her legs, giggling.  
"Don't let him get me mom!"  
"I'm trying to talk hon," She laughed, as John caught up to him, pretending to be out of breath, dramatically bending his upper body over his knees. The boy seemed to find his dad's theatrics amusing.

Castiel felt a twinge of regret, as he looked down at Dean's young face, splattered with freckles, happiness in that moment bubbling over onto his face, unable to be contained. He looked back up to John and Mary and the comforting brush of John's fingers around Mary's waist as he righted himself. "Careful now." Mary cautioned Dean, as her fingers lightly touched Dean's hair as he reached to place a hand on Mary's stomach. His lips puckered in disappointment. "He's not doing anything."  
"You're scaring him, that's why." John joked, before hoisting little Dean onto his shoulders. "Shouldn't you be at school?" He asked Castiel, frowning as his eyes critically swept up Castiel's unusual attire, raising his eyebrows slightly at what Castiel could assume was his hair (did it really seem that odd?). Mary gave him a small shove. "It's not our business John."  
"I'm twenty one." Castiel said, stating the age he vessel would've been if Castiel hadn't entered his body. This normally seemed to clear up matters, but it only made John Winchester's eyes narrow in more suspicion. Mary sighed. "Not now." She murmured. Dean bit his lip, his green eyes clouded in worry, his tiny hands tightening on the short sleeves of John's shirt, glancing over to his mother anxiously.

Castiel was at a loss of what to say. This reminded him of when he'd stepped inside a cafe to shelter from the rain, without understanding that it was expected of him to order food, which Castiel barely had the money for. He supposed that he should get a job, if he was going to work at this human thing, but what he had going on was temporary. He was still looking for God, which proved to be more difficult than Castiel expected. God did not want to be found. So, until he could come up with a new idea of how to go about finding God he was stuck watching ducks and children wandering through the park. Life had become incredibly dreary, now that he was grounded. The world seemed to have lost its spectrum of colour, its abundance in taste, drained away by Castiel's loss of purpose.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the young Dean had crowed "This way!" to John, who was now off entertaining his child. He was left with Mary, and despite her confidence and knowledge of her gifts as a hunter, Castiel found her endearing. "Sorry about that." She said, her eyes flicking over to John and Dean fondly. "Things were a little tense back there. We've been having some problems, but we're figuring them out." She looked back to Castiel, her voice softening. "Everything okay with your family? My parents used to travel a lot, and I got a lot of crap for not wanting to be a part of that life."  
Castiel was unsure of what to say. But he strived for an honest answer. "I'm estranged from my family. But it's good, I need the distance from all of my brothers and sisters, in time I hope to reconcile with them." Yes, once he found God he could fix and explain everything. They'd understand why he'd done it.  
Castiel recoiled slightly away from Mary, surprised as she wrapped her arms around him in a tender hug. Castiel settled for patting her back in appreciation, careful not to bump the new born baby, pulsing with life deep inside her, still untainted and pure. "I'm sorry," She said sheepishly, as she pulled away. "It was just…I -" She took a deep breath, "Please take care of yourself okay? Do you have a place to stay?"  
Castiel decided this time it'd be better to lie. "Yes." He kept it short to a one word answer, because as Balthazar had pointed out when he'd turned up, that Castiel was a terrible liar and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. A silence presided, between the two, Mary fidgeting on her feet, Castiel staring at her intently, deep in thought. "We think it's a boy, and we want to call him Sam, after my dad."  
Castiel smiled. "Sam sounds like a good name."  
"Yeah, it does." She paused, before adding "What's your name? Sorry, I forgot to ask!"  
Castiel was unsure how forgetting a simple question could be so offensive, but he simply accepted this truth. "Castiel." He said, his body filling with warmth. Somehow he felt that his name would be safe in her mouth.

She smiled, a fond, private smile just for him. "It was nice to meet you Castiel." She held out a hand, which Castiel took, his arm going floppy as she shook it in her strong grasp, before going to join Dean and John, leaving Castiel with the ducks. Castiel smiled to himself, as he tossed another breadcrumb, kneeling by the waters, mulling over the ideas of destiny and choice, staring at his pallid reflection in the water, his dark murky eyes and his distinctive hair, making him easy to spot in the crowd. Although, he knew that it would be dangerous to get in such close contact as the Winchesters again, seeing them together had stirred something in Castiel, enough to make him ponder, until the light started to fade from the trees, and Castiel was forced to remind himself, that time passed differently when he was in human form. He wiped the bread crumbs onto his jeans, brushing off the dirt, before disappearing into one of the shed's playhouses, not wanting to be disturbed. He'd already had enough trouble with security guards in the past, grumbling about curfews, accusing Castiel of vandalism and threatening to call social services. Castiel normally knocked them unconscious for a few hours, but the whole process was tedious all the same.

Castiel curled up on his side, on one of the uncomfortable benches, lazily watching a spider spin a new web. Even though his vessel needed no sleep he closed his eyes, for once trying to picture what it'd be like to be human and know how to do such things as other humans seemed to do naturally. He idly wondered about what life in the Winchester household was like, obviously not perfect, a dysfunctional family, but he gathered that it was at least trying to be a happy one. And that was a greater achievement than Castiel had ever seen. His family was a mess beyond repair. But he hoped finding God would help fix that. He prayed that it would fix that, even now as broken as he was, being an outcast, he still prayed that things could get better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Present Castiel**

"Do you know how I died Castiel?"  
Castiel was silent, waiting. Merlin stared out to the castle, the wind making the white hair of his beard tremor. He looked to Merlin, evaluating his expression, seeing things from a distant time as he looked out to the castle. Merlin gave a small throaty chuckle.  
"Was I there?" Castiel inquired, expecting it to be yet another morbid affair that he'd been "manipulated" into performing.  
Merlin shook his head. "No."  
"Need I ask why this is of importance?" Castiel questioned. By now, he'd given up asking Emyrs the sorceror questions as to how all this slotted together, or what it was that Castiel had apparently done. There were more important questions on Castiel's mind. He hadn't time for Emyrs's moments of nostalgia, of his life prior to his death and his time in heaven. He was more concerned with what had happened with God. Why had he been looking for him?

What had Castiel been doing "hiding from his brothers"?

What grievance had he commited against them? What plight had he considered so strong that he felt the need to hide himself from them? All of these questions demanded answers, and if Castiel was to understand and progress, he needed to move on with his journey, NOT hear recollections of Emyrs's last breath. He'd known enough about it. Unless he'd been lied to about that as well.

Merlin gave a small sigh of disappointment, as if he'd failed a secret test, otherwise ignoring Castiel's comment. "It'd been a monday afternoon, and I was paying my respects to Arthur at the lake, sitting on a park bench." Merlin took a deep breath. "It was a cloudy day, but the sun was still shining, I suppose you could say it was typical british weather." Merlin closed his eyes. "I saw a man stand across the lake, wearing a suit and tie." Merlin smiled. "I knew who it was, I'd seen him many times before, but never in person. I could feel this was Death." Merlin frowned. "I always expected that I would fight against Death, after so long, waiting for Arthur. But I didn't feel like that. I thought I'd argue with him, but really he was just doing his job." Merlin shook his head, swallowing. "It was my time. That was it. My waiting was over."

"So you died sitting at a park bench?" Castiel questioned. That sounded peaceful enough. The angels had only escorted him to heaven then, to ensure that the warlock has truly passed.

"No. I raised a hand to him. I got up from my park bench, said goodbye to Arthur, called him a prat, and told him I was finally on my way to meet him." Merlin paused, frowning. "It was very fast. I heard something behind me, the sound of wingbeats. I felt a flash of pain -" Merlin swallowed hard, his eyes watering. "I fell into the arms of an angel, it's eyes gleaming -"

Castiel was horrified. "An angel killed you?"

Merlin frowned. "Nothing could get in the way of their prophecy. They had to make sure that Dean Winchester went through with the Crossroad Deal, so he could go to hell. So of course they had to get rid of me, I was Dean Winchester's last hope. The angel disappeared after that, leaving me in the mud. I couldn't see for a moment, the pain was blinding...but then Death helped me up, hoisted me onto my feet, with one hand. He held a milkshake in the other. It was strange, looking back at my dead body in the mud. Anyway, we got a bite to eat together. He told me that if I wanted, I could go and see the reincarnated Arthur, before I went to heaven, as a thank you for helping close up death's doors a few hundred years ago. He grumbled a lot about this reincarnated Arthur, as he picked through his french fries, called him a nuisance." Merlin shook his head; smiling. "But if that doesn't sound like Arthur then I don't know what does. Gabriel was serving our table, if you can believe it. He was the only one in the restaurant that could see us. He didn't look happy to see me, but that's family. I don't think he was too pleased with me for dying. He was asking if I'd fallen asleep on the job, apparently this reincarnated Arthur had gotten himself into some Crossroads deal, and he was hoping that I'd have been able to set him straight. I couldn't say I was surprised. Arthur was always..." Merlin trailed off, grinning to himself at memories from long ago.

"You saw Dean Winchester?"  
"For an hour. I sat in the back of the impala with Death, in case I tried anything." Merlin sighed. "The two brothers were arguing, and the bone head wasn't looking at the road at all." Merlin shook his head. "I finally get to see the reincarnated Arthur, but I'm dead and I can't say a word to him. But that was the deal. I couldn't speak to him, not unless I wanted to become a ghost." Merlin sighed. "And I wasn't doing that. It was my time. Death gave me an interesting commentary, explained to me the prophecy, that Sam was to Dean what Mordred had been to Arthur. And then it was time to go on my way to heaven. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I do have a great number of complaints about it."  
"I have to say it helps if you stay in your designated area."  
Merlin grinned. "Well...I've never been one to follow the rules."


	6. Chapter 6

**Past Castiel**

**Last Glacial Period**

"Our duty is to purify the land of the last of these beasts." Uriel grumbled, as he stepped towards the dark cave. The landscape was harsh, and rocky, blanketed with snow and in the dark of the cave Castiel could see a frightened pair of eyes staring back at him, its eyes fixated on his weapon. Two conflating emotions rose up in Castiel's being, filling him up until he was overflowing. The sense of duty, combined with the regret of having to destroy a creation such as this. He could trace back the Neanderthal's lineage back aeons, where the earth was just beginning to bloom. All the way back to one fish, who'd managed to scramble onto the shore line next to Castiel's feet.

_"Don't step on that fish Castiel. Big plans for that fish."_

__This was the result of the fish's creation. How beautiful and sad it was, that the fish could have such an impact on the world, to be what results in the creation of countless other species, one of those species being the Neanderthals. And the Neanderthals had so much potential. But now they were a dead end, they were slowly dwindling in numbers, beaten out by their more successful competition. "I remember a time where you thought that they would win." Uriel remarked, watching the Neanderthal quiver in the dark with his sharp eyes, acknowledging him as its predator. "Yes, you are right." Castiel replied, his voice ringing in his head, his mouth tasting metallic. It was as if someone had stolen his voice, his body and was tugging it to do their bidding. This didn't feel like him. "Even now, I consider them to be more graceful." Castiel flicked out his blade, diligently cleaning off the invisible dirt, as if it would be tainted by the blood that was to be spilt. Uriel frowned as he considered his comrade. "I'm glad that your appreciation for their creation hasn't blinded you from the matter at hand."

Castiel exhaled slightly, stepping forward towards the Nethanderthal. It skittered away into the cave with a screech.

Castiel didn't react to its screams. Not at first. There was only heaven's duty. The path must be paved for the human race. These failures had to die. The first Neanderthal had alerted its family members, and now they were all screaming. One Neanderthal woman, clutched her children to herself, nostrils flaring. In her hand she held a rock. As if that could protect her from the wrath of an angel of the Lord.

He was quick. He'd prepared for this mission many times, repeated the exercise of killing the creatures with no trace of regret. This was a kindness. They would've died a long and horrible death. This was mercy. They were not equipped to survive. Hesitation only came once the life of the mother had been crushed from her lungs as Castiel stabbed her in the chest. She spluttered out a hoarse cry, rising her arms feebly to her young, who were now running, crawling to safety. Castiel's brow creased, as he felt the hot blood that stained his blade, drip onto his hand. He looked down at the body sprawled across the floor, now dead.

_How could this be a kindness? What happened to observing God's creation?_

__Castiel opened his mouth, yelling to Uriel to stop, zapping himself towards him. He caught the diligent angel by surprise as he stalked the young children, as they sprinted away into the sparse trees. He pinned him down. They tumbled over each other, wrestling for their blades. But Castiel had the upper hand. The tang of salt and rust danced in his mouth. His eyes saw red painted everywhere. He raised his knife to his brother, the red wash of his eyes blinding him, but he still raised the blade, ready to cut Uriel down. Uriel stared back up at him, in shock. "Castiel?" He asked, fear crossing the angel's features. "What are you doing?"

But the knife did not fall. Castiel could not complete his act of rebellion. He could not kill Uriel. He could not raise a hand against his brother. Castiel leaned over him slightly, panting, looking back at the entrance of the cave through his blurry vision, his mouth swimming in blood. He could see the corspe of the father. Uriel's work. The young were now on their own.

A blinding force struck the side of Castiel's head. Uriel's voice boomed in his ear, his true voice. The voice that could make rocks tremor. The landscape shook, as Castiel toppled sideways, his vision going lopsided. For a moment, Castiel was vaguely aware of what was happening, where Uriel was taking him. The white room. The room where his deranged mind would be cleansed once again, purified of this act of treason. Where he'd be "cured".

But for a second or a lifetime in Castiel's angelic perception, he chose to make the moment of weakness, of compassion last. He savoured the tang of blood. The slow spit of the cold ice from his mouth, as he healed. He watched it diffuse with the snow, the crimson liquid forming delicate bands of watery red. All feeling would be stripped from him again. Who knew when he would once again resurface?


End file.
